


a precarious place

by saintsavage



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Regency, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, But it's there, F/F, Flower Language, M/M, Pining, TROPES FOR DAYS, also somebody dies but don't worry about it, courting, which is not graphic I promise or even really talked about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 04:08:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19995610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintsavage/pseuds/saintsavage
Summary: When Margot is virtually dragged out of mourning from her countryside home in order to serve as a chaperone, she’s absolutely certain that she’s going to be miserable. Not only is she once again stuck in close quarters with her brother, but now she’s going to be stuck spending time with his bride-to-be, Alana Bloom, a woman that Margot doesn’t doubt is as dull as ditchwater - she’d have to be, to be interested in a man like Mason.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE NOTE: my power is currently out right now, so I can't access the full story on my hard drive, but I'm just missing the last two parts. I'll add them as a second chapter as soon as I possibly can. I'll be including the link to the gorgeous artwork as well my phone is just not the best place to accomplish that.
> 
> EDIT: Power is still out, but I embedded the image to the artwork for this!

  
  
If there was one thing that Margot Verger-Dimmond knew for certain, one single thing in the whole of the universe, it was this: Miss Bloom was going to be intolerable as a companion. Not only had Mason spent the entirety of the morning (and the evening before, and the evening before _that_ ) waxing on about her milky white skin and apparent infatuation with him, but from all Margot had overheard Miss Bloom was virtuous and proper and perfect. The penultimate lady.  
  
_And no doubt she's dull as ditchwater._  
  
Perhaps that wasn't a fair judgment to make of someone she'd only had second and third hand accounts of, but Margot had never been said to be a kind woman, and life had taught her early - and well - that the world took delight in cruelty. Whether it was the sharp barbs directed towards her by her oafish father, or the more literal pains inflicted upon her breakable skin by Mason, life always found a way to make her bleed.  
  
That isn't to say that Margot was a dour creature by nature, or cowed by all that had been heaped upon her head. Rather than sink into despair she'd sought to thrive instead, defiant to her very core... and it had even worked, for a spell. She'd set her sights on Sir Anthony Dimmond like a soldier squaring up to a particularly brutal battlefield, and she'd landed him with an ease that was almost shocking to society at large.  
  
Nevermind their shared proclivities, which made them perfectly suited as friends. Such things were simply not spoken of. And if Anthony never took to his new wife's bed, no one would _dare_ call him out on it. They couldn't, strangled as they were by the rules society had laced so tightly around them all. The very thing that condemned people like Margot and Anthony protected them the moment they took up the laughable charade of wedded bliss.  
  
Unfortunately, the darling man had taken it into his head to be terribly foolish, and now Margot was living with the consequences - a widow at not quite six and twenty, once more under Mason's thumb. _A precarious place to be, more so when he's determined to have that mealy-mouthed, blue-blooded twit as his bride._  
  
"Madam?" Reluctantly, Margot turned to face the intruder on her peace, a quiet little maid with a name Margot refused to learn. "Miss Bloom is only coming up the drive, and Mr. Verger-"  
  
"Yes, I know." Snapping at the help, especially those Mason terrorized so freely, was something Margot disliked immensely, but it was better to show no hint of favor or kindness towards the staff, lest Mason decide to demonstrate his power over them all. _I couldn't stomach another episode like the last. What was that poor girl's name? Christy? Cassie?_  
  
They never did get the blood out of the hall carpet.  
  
"I'll be down in a moment." Mason was already bellowing up the stairs, boorish as always. _I suppose I best get on with it._  
  
\------------  
  
As Miss Bloom's carriage came up the lane Margot schooled her face to neutrality - unwilling to go so far as smile, but not wanting to risk Mason's wrath by showing even a hint of her disdain for the display she was about to endure.  
  
Once again, she wondered how it was that somebody as pedigreed as Miss Bloom managed to find herself in such an awkward position as to have no female relations that could act as her chaperone while she and Mason courted. Surely there was someone better suited to the task than Margot, a widow fresh out of mourning?  
  
"Just you wait. Miss Bloom is a real woman, not _unnatural_ like _you_. She's dying to get her hands on me but it's up to you to keep her proper, Margot. Wouldn't want that guardian of hers getting in a snit now would we?"  
  
Whatever response she might have given was cut off as the carriage door was opened, at which point Margot's mouth dropped open of it's own accord.  
  
_My god, she's an angel._  
  
Introductions were made, and while Margot is sure she gave all the required responses - Mason wouldn't have hesitated to give her that awful, smarmy smile of his if she'd fumbled in some way - she is dead certain that she couldn't repeat herself if asked. She feels giddy, punch drunk even, at the sight of the demure, heavenly beauty before her.  
  
Soft, milky skin, dappled with freckles, limpid blue eyes, glossy dark hair with a hint of curl despite the elegant chignon it's pulled into. She's slight and dainty and mouthwateringly _lovely_ , and it takes every once of self control Margot has not to say something terribly ill-bred. But it's a damn close thing. _No wonder Mason is so damned set on her to the point of dragging me into town. Even if she wasn't richer than Croesus he'd want her - and he'd have had her already if not for said fortune and connections._  
  
Unbidden, Margot can't help but think of the obvious, watching as Miss Bloom blushes like a rose at Mason, allows him to escort her up the steps even as she turns her head and offers Margot sunny smile. _Can I really go through with this? Allow someone like that to marry my brother? He'll kill her before the month is out. But what do I do? If I warn her off, she'll say something, and Mason will know it was me... oh, hell._  
  
\------------  
  
"So you see, it was all very surprising. The Honorable Mr. Cordell had been an acquaintance of my late father, and he mentioned to me that he knew a gentleman with the most lovely Thoroughbreds, and now here we are." Miss Bloom practically _beamed_ at Mason, somehow missing his positively lecherous ogling from across the table.  
  
"Yes, here we are." Margot may have spent the better part of the afternoon and evening drinking. Heavily.  
  
"I was so pleased when Mason told me he had a sister that might act as my chaperone. Lord Wolf was quite put out trying to find someone suitable." _A sharp man like Lord Wolf was probably willing to call every single society mama a harlot to their face if it meant keeping you away from Mason. A pity a don't have a single scandal to my name - though I'm sure he dug plenty._  
  
Lord Wolf was rather infamous in certain circles. He blatantly lived in town with one Dr. Lecter and didn't seem to give a damn about what society thought about it. Even Anthony couldn't believe it, and he'd had cause to know the pair in seedier circumstances than Margot cared to speculate about. _Will's rich enough that he could get away with murder - everybody knows he'll be a Duke, besides. And Hannibal, God you wouldn't believe half the stories they tell about him, but I'd put money on the whole lot being true. He's simply extraordinary Margot!_  
  
It had been early in their marriage, a rare moment spent tucked up in Margot's room, drinking after a night out thumbing their noses at the people who couldn't touch them now that they'd hidden their vices under the veil of matrimony. Margot remembers laughing harder than she ever had, so free in the moment, happy and safe for the first time in her life. Safe enough to point out the obvious. _You think every man with beautiful legs is divine, Anthony._  
  
_Well, a well-turned calf is clearly a sign of good character!_  
  
Oh, how she did miss his silliness.  
  
\------------  
  
The next morning, Margot is informed that they will be going for an extended ride alongside the rich countryside that surrounds the Verger estate. No doubt the idea was put into Mason's head by Miss Bloom's expressed interest in nature and her natural affinity with horses. It was the supposed reason for her visit, after all, to see the Verger Thoroughbreds for themselves.  
  
_Not that Mason has anything to do with them. He finds horseflesh distasteful at best. But this is all part of the long game, isn't it?_ Margot has taken care not to take much notice of the staff that currently wait upon her, but this morning the maid attending her is not the usual girl, and it's jarring in a way she did not expect. She's forced to notice the shaking hands, the bruising peeking out above the girl's prim collar. Her eyes are round and wild and she's skittish as a newborn fawn.  
  
_I can't think about it. I can't._  
  
Layers upon layers of delicate lavender drape themselves about her form as Margot is readied for the days adventure, but she finds it most difficult to shake off the feelings of utter helplessness that are currently plaguing her. Perhaps it's because she'd forgotten what it felt like after several years away... no, that isn't it. Margot can't even lie to herself on that account. Terror is etched into her bones, the sort of thing she'll know even if she manages to survive a hundred years more... she'll always be able to call it by name.  
  
_But Miss Bloom knows no such life as this._  
  
And that, that is the crux of the problem, isn't it? The truth is, everything about life on the Verger Estate has been thrown into sharp clarity now that Miss Bloom has come to visit with them, because Margot knows all too well what it means to _really_ live there, without the facade Mason is currently employing with such finesse. Eventually, it's going to come crashing down. _And when it does, Miss Bloom will be his first target._  
  
Her mind is quick to counter such thoughts with resigned practicality. _And just what are you going to do about that? Tell her to run? That Mason is dangerous? Suppose you tell Lord Wolf? Even if someone believes you, he'll know you told, and then what? Are you really willing to risk everything for a stranger?_  
  
Margot didn't honestly know. It was most troubling.  
  
Still, the show had to go on, and in quick order everyone was mounted and setting off at a sedate trot towards the woods. Mason was in the lead, with Miss Bloom trailing slightly behind him and dressed charmingly in an emerald green riding habit. Mr. Cordell - who had shown up some time in the night no doubt too drunk to find his way home - rode behind her, which left Margot little choice but to ride beside him and watch as he dug in his spurs in a way that made her seethe.  
  
Fortunately, Mason had no particular attachment to Mr. Cordell - indeed, he was often amused when Margot cut the man down. _My bitch of a sister certainly knows how to call a spade a spade, doesn't she Cordy?_ "There's no need to use your spurs so roughly, Mr. Cordell. Our animals are well trained."  
  
"They're still lazy. This nag is barely keeping up." As if to show evidence of the fact, Mr. Cordell yanked back harshly on the reins, causing the gelding to skitter sideways in protest. _A pity he didn't just dump the man, but Phantom isn't high-strung enough for that. Though he might be after this disastrous little trip._  
  
Rather than comment on how poorly Mr. Cordell was handling her horse - because surely that would only draw Mason's attention, and Margot would _never_ be so foolish - she simply raised an eyebrow at the childish display. "That nag won more on the track in one season than you have in a lifetime, I'd wager. And we're keeping pace just fine, though I imagine all that brandy is making everything seem slow. Are you feeling faint, Mr. Cordell?"  
  
Mr. Cordell predictably did not buy her sharp smile for one moment. _Wise of him._ Instead he tried to turn the conversation around, showing just how little he'd learned in all their years of acquaintance. Margot might have been cowed by her father and brother, but her quick wit ensured she won verbal skirmishes with ease when presented with the opportunity. "This sack of bones is practically dead. I bet he couldn't even beat that little filly Miss Bloom is on!"  
  
"Not carrying 14 stone."  
  
Mr. Cordell blanched at the blandly spoken insult, while Margot's expression dared him to raise his voice and draw Mason's attention. "You always have to be nasty, don't you Margot?"  
  
"My name is Mrs. Dimmond, _Mr._ Cordell. Do remember your manners. I'm sure Mason would be ill-pleased if Miss Bloom overheard you speaking in such a way. And we both know what happens when Mason is unhappy." Given that Mr. Cordell was the only surviving boyhood friend of Mason's, it was likely he knew this just as well as she did. If not better.  
  
Choosing the coward's way out, he urged Phantom forward. "Mason! Mason, I daresay your sister just told me this bit of a horseflesh was prime stock! Shall we have a race?"  
  
Within moments, the pair had raced off ahead, Mason's beastly stallion already yards ahead of Phantom and Mr. Cordell. Margot narrowed her eyes in annoyance. _I swear if that man manages to lame one of my favorite horses he'll live to regret it._  
  
"I've never understood the need to push animals so harshly, especially when your horses seem so eager to perform. This little one here is practically dancing for me." Miss Bloom's soft voice and dimpled smile manages to defuse Margot's temper without effort. "Why I've never ridden such a well-trained filly in my life. What is her name?"  
  
It aches to look at her earnest face. _Is this how the other animals felt in the woods, watching that little red-cloaked girl speak so kindly to the wolf?_ The thought makes Margot shorter than she means to be. Sharper. "Applesauce."  
  
"How darling!" Miss Bloom is patting the mare's neck, practically cooing at the creature. She seems to have completely disregarded Margot's rather frozen demeanor. _Either she's simple or mule-stubborn._ Glancing at the woman riding beside her, Margot would bet good money on the latter. "I wouldn't worry about your gelding too much. Surely your brother won't let Mr. Cordell hurt him." _Of course not. Mason prefers to do the hurting himself._ "Forgive me, but Lord Verger said you had a hand in training the horses here?"  
  
Admittedly, it's hard to stay so frozen and cold under such gentle but determined questioning. It's very clear that Miss Bloom has made up her mind to befriend Margot: her whole body is shifted towards her, open and inviting, head tilted in such a way as to be encouraging. Had it not been so insulting, Margot would have been charmed. Then again... "Yes. Even before my marriage I had always taken an interest in sport."  
  
Even a surly badger with thorns in it's feet would be hard pressed to be agitated at someone like Miss Bloom.  
  
"You've done a remarkable job." There it is again, that sunny smile, without a hint of cruelty. _Has she ever seen a black day in her life?_ "Lord Crawford is always talking about the Verger stock, he says you'll take Newmarket again this year."  
  
By now, Mason and Mr. Cordell have vanished without a trace, but their rudeness is allowing the two woman this small respite and for that Margot is most grateful. She may not be able to warn Miss Bloom of Mason's nature, and the practical side of her questions why it even matters, but the morning ride has turned into an almost pleasant interlude. _Too bad Mason can't break his neck out there, in the woods._ "Thank you. I know it isn't typically done, but I enjoy training and it's kept my mind occupied these past few months." One of Miss Bloom's brows lifts slightly, surprised, and Margot wants to kick herself in the shin for the admission. While in mourning, she was expected to remain in her home, to hide herself away pining for her husband. "Not that I've-"  
  
"It's quite alright, Mrs. Dimmond. I know you've been in mourning but I've always believed the only way to heal from such a loss is to find enjoyment in life. You can't do that shut up in a dark house." _Oh god, that's her hand on mine._ Indeed, Miss Bloom has reached out and placed her gloved hand on top of Margot's, smiling - _still, still she smiles!_ \- and radiating warmth and compassion.  
  
The world may as well have vanished. Even Margot's wit has deserted her and she blurts out the first words she can think of in half a panic because Miss Bloom still hasn't moved away. "Lord Crawford, he's your guardian, isn't he?"  
  
After a faint squeeze of her hand, Miss Bloom finally pulls back. "Yes. For several years now I've been his ward. He took me in after I lost my parents, though for the past year I have been staying of course with my cousin, Lord Wolf, as Lady Crawford has been unwell." That is news so old it might as well have a grave of it's own.  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry or bring up any unpleasant memories."  
  
"Please, don't apologize. To be honest sometimes I can hardly remember them, they were gone so often. It makes me feel wicked that I don't miss them more." _Christ, those dimples of hers might as well be cannon fire aimed at my reason. She has no right to be so... so... it is unacceptable! Indecent, even. No one should be this vulnerable. More so when they have Mason sniffing at their skirts. Does she have any sense of preservation what so ever?_  
  
"You could never be wicked, Miss Bloom." She blushed the most maddening shade of petal pink imaginable, naturally.  
  
"Sometimes I'm not so sure. Living the way I do now... I've spent so much already, just on my coming out."  
  
An oddly placed phrase, given Miss Bloom's reported wealth, but Margot is beginning to think that - given the choice - Miss Bloom would live a much simpler life than the one she was born into. That such wealth and extravagance might even make her uncomfortable. It's quaint, and horribly appealing, though Margot could never admit that outloud. "It's a requirement of our lives, I'm afraid. And surely it's a drop in the bucket in the grand scheme of things. Once you're married you can use your fortune for more charitable pursuits."  
  
"Yes. Once I'm married."  
  
Of all the things, that seems to have touched a nerve, and Miss Bloom suggests they catch up with their companions.  
  
\------------  
  
_Dear Mrs. Dimmond,_  
  
_I hope you don't find this too forward of me, but I wanted to write a letter of thanks for your gracious hospitality. I know that you've only recently left mourning and it must have been a very difficult decision for you to offer yourself as my chaperone, but I am truly grateful too you, and not only because it saved me from having to hound Lord Wolf like a nagging fishwife until he settled on someone suitable. Rather, I felt so comfortable with you, like we were lifelong friends meeting again after a long parting. I do hope you feel the same._  
  
_Never have I experienced such joy! It was a marvel to meet you, to feel as though I were completely known by you from the very first. I could go on and on, but I trust you understand me perfectly so I will not waste the ink. I'd much rather tell you of how dreadful my days are without your companionship. I find myself missing your presence though you've never before wandered the halls I find myself in now. It's the strangest thing, but it's as though my missing you has translated into expecting you around every corner._  
  
_But nevermind my silliness. I wanted to ask about you, so that I might better come to know you-_  
  
The letter goes on, asking careful but astute questions about Margot's life, portraying such sensitivity when it comes to Anthony. It seems harmless to write back, more so when Mason loudly proclaims that she must. _Yes. Because that's the only reason you're engaging with the woman in correspondence. Because Mason said so._  
  
Later on in the week they attend a garden party held by the rather infamous Sir Price. _Anthony would be glad to know the eccentric man hasn't changed in the slightest._ During her marriage, Margot had been introduced to a rather wide cast of characters, Sir Price and his 'valet' among them. They'd become friendly in that time, though she'd hesitate to call them friends. More like two individuals mutually amused by the antics of the other. She hadn't seen him since Anthony's passing, mostly because Mason disapproved, but the suggestion to attend had come from Miss Bloom - so of course, they had to go.  
  
"Mrs. Dimmond." Today Miss Bloom is swathed in pale yellow, elegantly embroidered with flowers. Irises and lilies, tiny daisies and exquisite wild roses. She looks more beautiful than the actual garden surrounding them.  
  
"Miss Bloom."  
  
More introductions are made, with Mason being as boorish as he usually is - though he manages to not make any snide remarks, well aware of Miss Bloom's presence. His restraint is actually impressive, for him. _But then again he wants that money, and the prestige that would come with marrying someone like Miss Bloom, and he wants it badly._  
  
What is _not_ surprising is Mason abandoning them to 'talk of men's things', though it's mortifying to witness. Mason has no understanding for his betters, he plods right over others as if they should defer to him simply because of his wealth, and Margot just can't wrap her mind around how much of an idiot he is.  
  
_Doesn't he know that the Verger family might have been removed from the merchant class two generations ago, but to the people they're among now he might as well be wearing a butcher's apron?_ They're new money, and treated as such, but her foolish brother doesn't grasp that. It just doesn't occur to him that the old guard sees them as lesser.  
  
Yet there is a golden lining to Mason's abandoning them - yes, golden, steps above silver in this instance. Without Mason, Margot is free to spend her time walking the gardens with Miss Bloom.  
  
She can't help but admire the woman, her beauty and wit and simple, kind heart. But it's more than that. It's the way her nose wrinkles slightly when she laughs. Or the sharp, cutting way she responded to Lady du Maurier when the horrible woman decided to make a rather cutting comment about class. Miss Bloom was practically incandescent with rage! Before Margot thought her incapable of it, but she'd witnessed the sight for herself, and marveled over it.  
  
Miss Bloom was as ferocious as any Valkyrie, utterly uncaring about social lines. She'd gone on the attack and, when she had said her part, simply took Margot's arm in her own and stormed off like half the party wasn't staring in shock!  
  
Another letter comes for Margot that evening, one she keeps stashed in her reticule. It's like a burning ember, so much sharper and angrier than Miss Bloom - _no, she's signed it as Alana, now how am I to think of her as anything else?_ \- allowed herself to be at the party. That she wanted to make her position clear, that she'd even taken the time to ask of Margot's feelings and to apologize if she'd overstepped, it means everything to Margot... even if it stings, knowing Alana is defending her as Mason's future bride.  
  
_And you continue to let her, knowing what's in store. Inside you're no better than he is.  
  
_\------------  
  
For their next meeting the trio head to the park in an open carriage. Given the public nature of such an outing one would think Mason could find it in himself to maintain the charade, but he'd been at the brandy all morning, irritated about one thing or another, and as a result by the time they pick up Miss Bloom he is on his way to being very drunk and shockingly rude.  
  
Why, he tried to sit beside Miss Bloom, to grab at her hand and even her waist!  
  
Seeing how uncomfortable she was, Margot had casually invited the other woman to her side of the carriage, pointing out the variety of flowers visible and more or less keeping a running conversation going so that Mason wouldn't be able to say something impetuous in the silence - he'd never liked the quiet, even as a boy. _With any luck our chatter will bore him straight to sleep._  
  
Unfortunately, Mason was still very much awake when the coachman stopped to allow them to walk about, and he had a mutinous cast to his features that didn't bode well for either of them. "Don't you talk about anything else but flowers? I didn't realize you were so shallow, Miss Bloom. Though I guess you're pretty enough that it doesn't matter how thick you are."  
  
Margot's tongue is heavy and numb. How she wants to scream at him! But she can't. This isn't a garden party and some snobby woman who thought too highly of herself. This was _Mason_.  
  
But only Margot knew the difference.  
  
"I'm off for a smoke. Try not to get lost."  
  
Once he'd vanished, muttering under his breathe, Margot dared glance at Alana, who looked rather pale after such a display. She knows this is the part where she defends him, brushes the behavior off with an excuse and pretends the world is still right and good when it's anything but... yet she can't stomach the idea of doing so, not to Alana. "Since he wants to sulk, would you mind terribly if we got a closer look at that patch of wildflowers we spotted earlier?"  
  
For a heartbeat, Alana pauses, and Margot thinks she's about to abandon both of the Vergers in her righteous indignation, but then she softens and nods her dark head in agreement. They spend the next hour picking flowers and talking. Margot about the countryside she misses, her horses and gardens. Alana in turn talks about her old home, the estate that cultivated her, and the marvelous glass-walled greenhouse that took up so much of her time.  
  
At one point, Alana shyly hands Margot a lovely little daisy, perfectly formed, and it brings an uncertain lump to her throat.  
  
But there's no time to respond, as Mason chose that moment to make himself known to them both, stomping over like the spoiled child he was. "I leave you alone for a minute and you two are playing in the mud like children! Look at your hands, they're filthy. Don't you have any sense at all?"  
  
This time she can't choke the words back down, they come bubbling up without the slightest hesitation on her part. "Mason, we were picking flowers, an activity even _you_ should be able to grasp, and one that a half dozen woman in this very park are also participating in. And we were only doing so because _you_ were in a _snit_."  
  
God, Alana is smiling at that. Pleased. _She doesn't know. He wouldn't dare lash out right now, even Mason has some sense, but later..._ all Margot can think of is their very empty house. Of what is going to happen once Alana is returned to Lord Wolf and Margot is alone with with her dear brother.  
  
\------------  
  
The Lounds ball is a lavish affair, glittering and garishly ostentatious - much like the Countess herself, who can be heard cackling like the hyena she is from every single corner of the room. No expense has been spared, but Margot pays no heed to her surroundings. Not the dancers, the overdressed fops in their mincing shoes. Not even the wide variety of beautiful women bedecked in what has to be the latest Parisian fashions - that are, in Margot's opinion, bordering on lewd - catch her eye.  
  
How can any of it capture her consideration, when her eye is still tight and aching under a careful coating of powder and paint? The bruising has begun to fade to a livid sort of purple red, just now yellowing at the edges, but she knows it's there, just under the surface. And she's not the only one.  
  
Alana has _clearly_ noticed and keeps frowning whenever she thinks Margot's attention is elsewhere.  
  
It's hard to look away from her at all, but Margot manages to feign some indifference in her companion. _Some. But I highly doubt she believes it's real. She's too astute by half... and that's a dangerous thing, when you're the future wife of my brother._  
  
More and more, Mason had been showing his true colors, unable to maintain the facade as it's so opposite his very nature. That he managed this long is sort of a small miracle, really, but Margot wonders if he's going to reach the tipping point tonight. He was outraged earlier, angry that Alana had danced with Dr. Lecter and her cousin, Lord Wolf, and it only grew worse when she refused to dance with Mason for a third time - as was suitable, given they were not yet betrothed. _Mason doesn't give a damn about etiquette. All he understands is wanting something and having it, and she's thwarted him publicly._  
  
"Would you mind accompanying me outside, Mrs. Dimmond? I could use some fresh air, and it's so lovely out."  
  
There's no denying her - Margot doesn't even bother trying. Not when she yearns to give Alana every last little thing she desires. It can't be helped. "By all means, lead the way Miss Bloom. I could certainly use a break - Lady Lounds events are always a bit of a crush."  
  
"And yet I always find myself wanting to escape them." Mischief is dancing at the edges of Alana's smile just now, a sort of teasing honesty that is refreshing to behold yet always manages to take Margot by surprise because it's such a foreign concept to her. She's too jaded by dealing with Mason to expect anything less than cruelty.  
  
They're halfway through the first turn of the garden, which is nearly deserted, when Margot has worked up the courage to speak her mind. There won't be another chance, and she finally decided that she simply cannot allow Alana to marry someone like her brother. She's too sweet of a sacrifice, and Margot couldn't bear to see her broken under Mason's heavy hand. _And broken she would be. The world has been too kind to her - she wouldn't be able to survive him, strong though she might be Mason is... Mason._  
  
Just as she opens her mouth, Alana finally speaks. And what she has to say... "Lord Crawford took me in out of pity, you know."  
  
The moment has been so utterly derailed - and furthermore, the idea is so ludicrous that it's difficult to grasp it - that Margot stops in place, gaping like a fish before sputtering out a reply. "I'm... I'm sorry?"  
  
Alana seems resolved to speak plainly. "I'm penniless. My cousin doesn't know. It's why my father asked Lord Crawford to take me in, he didn't want anyone to know he'd lost the family fortune. And Lord Crawford agreed, but once I came of age he told me in no uncertain terms that I would have to marry well in order to maintain my station."  
  
It's a shocking revelation. Before now, Margot had been hard pressed to understand why someone like Alana would accept her brother's suit in the first place, but it made a sorrowful bit of sense now. Mason was a pig, but he was a very wealthy one... and was just greedy enough to not question his luck.  
  
Though she broke eye contact the moment her confession began, Margot can see that Alana is very unnerved by what she's just revealed. _And no wonder. This could ruin her._ For once in her life, Margot Verger-Dimmond finds herself moved by vulnerability instead of driven to impatience. It causes her to give a secret of her own - like for like.  
  
Carefully, she reaches out for Alana's gloved hand, taking it between both of her own. "Mason strikes me. Often. He might have money, but he's impatient and cruel in the worst sort of ways, and I offend him greatly." She pauses for a moment, cautious in her wording. "We all have secrets, Miss Bloom. Please know I will always keep yours."  
  
There's nothing else to say.  
  
\------------  
  
The next morning there is a surprise delivery to the Verger townhouse. Margot is in the drawing room, watching passersby, when a timid maid enters, carrying with her the delivery in question. It's a bouquet of flowers, beautifully arranged, and she gestures for the girl to come closer so that she might inspect it further even as her stomach sinks with dread.  
  
Brilliant azaleas are nestled in between red and pink camellias and dainty forget-me-nots, and the whole creation is encircled in ivy. It's a heartbreaking message of love and devotion that the attached card reveals comes from Alana. _Of course it does. You knew it before you read it. Who else speaks of flowers so much?_  
  
That this message comes on the heels of their exchanged confessions the evening prior feels like a betrayal. _'Affectionately, Alana.'_ _Ha. I wonder how much affection she would send my ungrateful tyrant of a brother if she knew he'd spent all night with his mistress? How could she even send such a thing, after hearing the truth about him? Did I really need to spell it out further?_  
  
Impulse bids Margot to dispose of the flowers, and their message, but she is not dictated by such whims and instead orders the maid to place the flowers in Mason's room.  
  
\------------  
  
That night at the opera, an event they are attending with Lord Wolf and Dr. Lecter, Margot can admit to herself that she's more than cold to Miss Bloom. She even goes so far to sit beside Dr. Lecter rather than act as a buffer between Alana and Mason. _And why should I be? Clearly she's made her choice, and that choice is money above all else. Station and propriety and to hell with the consequences. I don't even know why I'm surprised by it at this point, yet somehow I expected better of her._  
  
_And those looks she keeps giving me! As though she was the one betrayed!_  
  
For his part, Dr. Lecter is an amiable enough companion. He stays with her during intermission when the rest of the group leaves for drinks, though he seems painfully amused by something. _Then again, he always looks fairly smug._ "Are you enjoying the performance, Mrs. Dimmond?"  
  
"Of course, Dr. Lecter." It's an immediate, polite response. The kind she's been trained to give since she was a girl.  
  
Dr. Lecter, naturally, doesn't believe it for a second. "That's a very pretty lie. Would you care to try again?"  
  
"It's rude to call someone out so baldly, Dr. Lecter." And it is - yet coming from him it manages to be quite charming instead. She can easily understand why he hasn't been blacklisted by the ton despite his rather questionable relationship with Lord Wolf. With a lightness she doesn't feel, Margot shrugs. "Honestly? I haven't been paying attention. I dislike opera."  
  
"I seem to recall you enjoying it very much when you attended the year before last."  
  
That makes her laugh, because she remembers the occasion well. Anthony had practically _dragged_ her to see Carmen, gushing all the while about black curls and green eyes. "That's because Anthony was mooning over a chorus boy that couldn't hold a tune." Perhaps it's bold of her to admit such a thing so freely, but it isn't as though anyone else is there to overhear them. _And Anthony is long dead, besides._  
  
"His tastes were often questionable, I'm afraid."  
  
"Explains why he fancied you."  
  
The cheeky remark finally brings Dr. Lecter to the point of almost-smiling. Really smiling. "Touche, Mrs. Dimmond. How fortunate that you do not share his deplorable senses." Margot laughs again, and might have continued their teasing further if Dr. Lecter hadn't looked over the railing, where Alana and Mason can be seen below, talking to Lord Crawford. "The lady, she's remarkable."  
  
"She is." A pause. "Mason is going to eat her alive."  
  
"I'd wager Miss Bloom is made of sterner stuff than it appears at first blush. Besides, she seems very fond of you."  
  
Margot scoffs at the suggestion, ignoring the hurt it causes. "She thinks of me as a sister, if anything." And she's as poor as a churchmouse and clinging to respectability besides.  
  
"My sister never looks at me like that, Mrs. Dimmond."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE POWER AGAIN.
> 
> I wanted to say sorry again for the delay. Also there is some minor violence here and other things, which is why I went back and added a few tags.

Margot can admit it. She's in love with Miss Bloom. And it's crushing not to see her.  
  
But with the return of Lord Crawford's wife from Brighton - where she'd retreated for the sake of her health - there is no longer any need for Margot to chaperone the couple any longer. She's become superfluous, and it's a fact that has Mason seeing red. _How dare that half-dead cow come back! Things were going so well and now she's ruining it. The least she could do is have the decency to stay gone, but oh no, she's just had to come back for her precious Miss Bloom. To hack and cough up a lung whenever we're together so that I can hardly get a damn word in!_  
  
Though he hadn't pressed when Margot bowed out of recent events, she imagines he's going to shortly now that she's no longer bedridden. The day Alana had written them to tell of Bella Crawford's miraculous re-emergence, he'd been absolutely incandescent with rage. It had spilled over to the staff but that hadn't been enough for Mason. He wanted someone to blame, and Margot always was so very convenient.  
  
Part of her wondered if he was going to kill her that night, but she'd survived it.  
  
She always did.  
  
And if spending time shut away at the estate instead of being miserable in the townhouse meant that she wouldn't have to endure watching Alana and Mason court... well, she could almost be glad for the beating, even if her ribs ached so badly she that she was unable to vent her frustrations with training and riding.  
  
Naturally, Mason made sure to have letters dispatched to her every day - he never willingly wrote out anything himself, citing his status as too important to bother - detailing his increasing displeasure. From the sounds of it, Alana refused to keep solely to his company, and he was half-wild with jealousy when he learned she'd gone on an outing to the racetrack with Lord Wolf and Dr. Lecter. He seemed to think the man was his competition and had an unfair advantage given his connection to Lord Wolf.  
  
The last letter, the one she was skimming over just now, bordered on filth. In it Mason went on and on about how Alana had to be used goods, that she was no doubt tupping Dr. Lecter and the cousin too, maybe even Lord Crawford. _He really is stupid. It's a wonder he doesn't drown when it rains. But it is curious, Alana's avoiding him after she made her intentions so very clear. Perhaps she's changed her mind and decided to save her own skin?_  
  
 _I wouldn't blame her._  
  
The situation continues on for another week when there's an unexpected arrival coming down the lane. Dread has already curled up tight in Margot's belly when she makes her way downstairs to the drawing room, unknowing as to what fate has dropped on her doorstep, but something about the coach seemed almost familiar...  
  
The grand front door of the Verger home is already shut tight by the time she manages to reach her destination - _I may need to have these ribs wrapped tighter, Mason must have done more than bruise them_ \- but she can see someone bustling around and sure enough once she reaches the entry way it's one of the maids, nervously moving to the mantle place before turning around.  
  
In her hands is a marvelous flower arrangement, one that rivals the one Alana had sent before and is clearly from the same sender. _But why has she sent flowers here, knowing Mason is in town?_  
  
"Set them on the table please."  
  
The girl is quick to follow instructions before scampering out of the room. _She must be one of the newer hires._ They were all horrified when Margot had arrived, bloody and broken, but the older staff didn't even flinch. They'd merely helped Margot to her room and called the local doctor to make sure none of the damage was severe.  
  
Gingerly sitting on the settee, Margot plucks the card away from the flowers, though she doesn't dare look at it yet. The arrangement is more complicated than before, filled with daffodils, daisies, purple hyacinth... it leaves Margot frozen, because she remembered their conversation in the park. The daisy she'd been so shyly offered that even now was securely hidden in the pages of a book. _"Lord Wolf always manages to find daffodils. It seems to be a sort of inside joke between him and his dear friend, Dr. Lecter. Even in the dead of winter there will be a whole collection of them sometimes, hidden away in their study."_  
  
 _Margot had been amused, but didn't understand the meaning - which Alana quickly understood without being told. "Flowers can mean all sorts of things. Daffodils can been regard, or the sun is always shining when I'm with you. They're a sort of symbol of love and caring, though they can also signify unrequited love."_  
  
 _Knowing such a thing about Lord Wolf, who she really only knew of in passing and from Anthony, it seemed a touchingly sweet gesture. "What about daisies?" She'd only been teasing, but Alana had blushed anyway._  
  
 _"Innocence, naturally. Loyal love, purity. They can be a signal that the giver won't tell a secret."_  
  
With trembling hands, Margot opens the card. There's no message, simply her name - _hers!_ \- written in what can only be Alana's flowing cursive. But what does it mean? And the hyacinth, what does the signify? Margot isn't so well versed in the language of flowers, it had seemed so trite and sentimental, but she'd still been schooled in the subject. _Hyacinth... I know they're dedicated to Apollo, but the colors all mean something. Playfulness? Jealousy? No, no that's yellow. Purple means... something to do with sadness. Asking forgiveness. Doesn't it?_  
  
 _But if it does... no. I must be mistaken._  
  
\------------  
  
Mason hasn't contacted her in close to four days now, a sharp contrast to the daily (and sometimes twice daily) letters that had been delivered before. It's most unnerving. _Please don't let him do anything rash, for once in his horrible, rotten life let him see reason._ Though she makes the prayer, Margot doubts it'll be answered. _The prayers of sinners seldom are._  
  
\------------  
  
She's on the verge of returning to London on her own to ferret out her errant brother, bruised ribs or not, when he finally makes an appearance, disheveled and in a foul disposition. _Has he been tucked away in some seedy opium den again?_ Though it wouldn't be the first time, Margot thought he had finally kicked that particular habit.  
  
The last time he'd gone was when their father still lived: the only person who could ever even sort of control Mason had been him. He'd threatened to disinherit him if he found him partaking in the substance again. _"I won't have an addict for a son, Mason. I don't know why you insist on such foolishness but this family has a standard to maintain. I will not tolerate it. If I find you've been to those filthy slums you'll be cut off with a penny."_  
  
For others it might not have seemed so great a threat, but both the Verger children understood to a painful degree that their father never, ever broke his word when it came to the family name. And so Mason had spent a solid month making life hell for her, but in the end he had come away seemingly free of the drug's demands.  
  
"Mason? Mason where have-"  
  
His hand cracked across her cheek, hard, but didn't even stop to witness the aftermath of her falling to the ground from the force of the blow, merely continued on into the belly of the house, slamming the door of his study behind him.  
  
Later that evening Mr. Cordell arrives, more than halfway drunk. "Where is the old chap?"  
  
"His study."  
  
Mr. Cordell took a moment to study her face, the newest marks upon it uncovered. "Behaving unnaturally again, Margot?"  
  
It's too much. With a confidence she does not feel, Margot smiles despite the split in her lip, not even flinching when the scab breaks open and begins to bleed, and approaches Mr. Cordell - which in turn sets him on edge, no doubt because she looks unhinged.  
  
She waits until she's close enough that their mouths are scant inches apart before roughly grasping his collar. "One of these days, Mason is going to be bored with you, Mr. Cordell. You're so _ordinary_. Even your vices are commonplace. It's _dull_ , and my brother, he so hates that. He likes to be entertained. Unnatural or not, I provide that. But you... I'd be _very_ careful that you stay interesting, because otherwise it'll be you Mason sets his sights on."  
  
She steps back, enjoying the way he's grown pale. "Not that you could be diverting if you tried, which means some day soon the scales will tip and Mason is going to come for you. And when he does do you know what I'm going to do, Mr. Cordell? I think I'm going to watch Mason at his work. I never have if it can be helped. I hate him down to my very soul. But I'll tell you this, Mr. Cordell: I'd enjoy watching my brother kill you."  
  
With that, Margot gestures down the hall and Mr. Cordell makes his escape while he can, clearly unnerved. He doesn't realize that Margot baited him intentionally, knowing he'll be so rattled that he likely won't think to shut the study door. _I need to know what Mason is up to - because surely he's up to something, and that never bodes well._  
  
\------------  
  
Waiting feels like an eternity, but Margot wants to be sure that Mason and Mr. Cordell are deep in conversation when she makes her way down the hall in order to overhear them. _Whatever he's planning, he'll need Mr. Cordell. And after the scare I just gave him the man would agree to anything in order to stay relevant. I just need to know what it is that their scheming._  
  
Murmuring up ahead, soft and insistent and getting louder as Margot approaches on bare feet.  
  
She isn't worried about a servant spotting her. They avoid Mason like the plague it can be helped, and even if they did see her, no one would dare speak of it, not after what happened the last time a footman had decided to inform Mason about Margot's behavior.  
  
"-take matters into my own hands! It's about time too. All this bloody courting. What's even the point? If I want to marry her, that should be it! Since when should a woman have a say in that?"  
  
"You're going to take her, then?"  
  
"That old bitch Bella is sick again, so her idiot husband took her back to Brighton. They've sent for Alana but she'll be traveling alone, with just a few guards - who are willing to look the other way for a bit of coin. It's perfect. I just need to snatch her. Who knows, maybe I'll start a trend?" Mason is cackling, clearly in the midst of one of his manic episodes, but all Margot can think is that she needs to get word to Alana, now-  
  
"Shall we go catch me a bride, Cordy?"  
  
Without think Margot races the the window and tucks herself behind one of the thick curtains. It's a hiding place a sober Mason would have found in an instant, but high on opium she'd be surprised if he even realized the window existed in the first place - and it wasn't like Mr. Cordell would be smart enough to suspect her.  
  
Once she can hear that they're in the front entryway, Margot begins to make her way to the back of the house. Likely her brother is taking that big, black brute of a horse he's so fond of but the animal is no match for any one of the Thoroughbreds in the stable. But at the last minute she stops and dashes back to Mason's office, where she knows he keeps all kinds of loaded pistols. _I'm not going to hurt him, I just need to make sure Alana is safe, that's all. He won't listen if I don't have a way to defend myself._  
  
She hurries to the stable, heedless of her sore ribs or the weight of the pistol in her hand.  
  
 _I won't let him ruin her._  
  
\------------  
  
Phantom was the first horse close to hand, and the only one she knew who would tolerate being ridden with just a blanket a rope bridle, an irony that is not lost on Margot as she rounds another corner, desperate for any sign of Alana's coach or her nefariously-minded brother. Up ahead there is commotion, even gunfire, but she can't see anything. _Please don't be too late. Please, please, please._  
  
Riding sharply around another bend, Margot finds herself among chaos. There's a coach overturned in the road, and men fighting everywhere, but she has eyes only for Alana, who is fighting hard as Mason attempts to drag her from the wreckage. Cordell is there as well, making his way towards Mason, and Margot doesn't think before she acts, neatly shooting him in the leg.  
  
Not that he can see her. The air is choked with gunpowder and smoke, and there's too many clashing bodies to tell who is on what side.  
  
Perhaps it's cruel of her, but Margot doesn't care one fig about the men currently struggling for their lives. Her only concerning is saving Alana - but when she reaches the coach she's gone. And so is Mason.  
  
"I wondered who got that shot off." Turning to the side, Margot can see that Mr. Cordell has managed to drag himself to the coach and is leaning against it, pressing firmly on the wound in his upper thigh.  
  
"Where is Mason?" There is no hesitance when she raises her weapon, aiming it directly at him.  
  
"You won't stop him Margot. You never have. Just let it go."  
  
"He'll hold you responsible for failing him, you know."  
  
That has him looking at her again, surprised. "Failing?"  
  
"You didn't do what he said. We both know Mason holds grudges, Mr. Cordell."  
  
He considers this carefully. "He won't give her up."  
  
"I am not giving him the choice."  
  
"You're really going to do it, aren't you?" Margot does not respond, but that seems answer enough as Mr. Cordell points in the direction he saw Mason leave in, dragging Alana with him, smiling unhappily as he does so. "Happy hunting, Margot."  
  
\------------  
  
The path isn't hard to follow, as Mason has left a vertible wake of broken branches and disturbed Earth behind him. But that's not what has Margot's heart racing in fear: since Alana disappeared, she hasn't heard a sound from her. Not a cry, not a scream... nothing. It's terrifying, but Margot won't consider that she's anything but alive. _He must have knocked her out, that's all. He's done that plenty of times before. Her head will ache like hell when she wakes, but she'll be fine._  
  
Up ahead there's movement, and she can hear Mason cursing and a soft noise that can only mean Alana is awake. But in what condition?  
  
 _Think about it later._  
  
She can see them now, and it's a picture out of her worst nightmares. Alana is surely dizzy from the knock she's taken, but she's fighting like a lioness against Mason's advances, striking out with the whole of her body, and Mason can't seem to keep her pinned down.  
  
"Who's th- oh, it's just you, Margot. Here, hold her still." He seems to take it for granted that Margot has appeared, assuming she will do as he says because she always has before. But this is different. This isn't a choice between herself and some random maid or stranger that Mason has picked up, this is Alana. _And I'll always choose her safety over mine._  
  
"No, Mason. You aren't hurting her. Let her go." At the sound of her voice, Alana turns her head slightly, disbelieving but so relieved.  
  
"Margot, do as I say. You don't like it when I get angry."  
  
They've all almost stopped moving entirely. Alana's breath heaving as she considers her unlikely savior. Mason is holding Alana down but he's been distracted by Margot, by the pistol she's now steadily brandishing towards him.  
  
"I'll count to three, Mason. Either you let her go and we all walk away from this... or you don't, and we find out how much like _you_ I really am."  
  
But she doesn't get the chance to count. Mason viciously punches Alana in the face, watching Margot all the while as though daring her to object, and that's it. That's _enough_.  
  
Margot shoots him square between the eyes.  
  
\------------  
  
By the time that Margot and Alana make their way back to the scene they've left behind, much has changed. Several men survived the encounter, and are clearly friends not foes as they all rush to help both women. The constable has been called and one of the men steps forward to suggest they take their leave. "Lord Wolf hired us to make sure nothing happened. He's a shrewd man, so I think he knew Verger was planning something."  
  
"Will has never trusted anyone, I'm not surprised he hired additional guards." Alana's voice is so soft. She's nestled under Margot's arm and seems to have no intentions of moving.  
  
"That's very true, Miss Bloom. But it would be best if the two of you headed back. We'll take care of this."  
  
It's tempting to do as he says, to walk away from what she's done without a backwards glance, but while she is a Verger by blood Margot has never been like her brother - or her father. This difference in her cannot allow Mason to lie dead and forgotten in the woods, dead at her hands. "Sir, my brother-"  
  
"Just take her home, Mrs. Dimmond. I promise we'll see to it." The man - he called himself Zeller - seems to be understanding. Someone like Dr. Lecter and Lord Wolf - and herself - if Margot had to wager.  
  
"Very well. But he can't disappear, you understand?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
Beside her, Alana delicately shudders, no doubt thinking of the bits of blood and bone that are still flecking her face and hands, but says nothing further as Margot gently loads her into a wagon the men have scrounged up for them, with Phantom tied to the side of the rig.  
  
\------------  
  
Perhaps Margot should have continued to Brighton, or as far as she could get, in order to return Alana to her rightful guardian. Or better yet, she could have gone to London and taken Alana to the townhouse of Lord Wolf. That would have been the right thing to do, the correct thing. But she isn't thinking about any of that. All she knows is she has to take Alana home, and to Margot - even if she _hates_ it - home means the estate.  
  
So she takes her there, checking all the while to make sure Alana stays awake and is comfortable. With the number of head injuries Margot has had, she knows it's important to keep Alana from falling asleep, at least until the danger has past.  
  
By the time they arrive dawn is streaking across the sky, bright tendrils of yellow and pale pinks. They've fallen into a comfortable silence but surely something will have to be said now that their journey is at an end. "I'll have the guest suite prepared for you, Miss Bloom. And summon a doctor to take a look at that head."  
  
"You're hurt too."  
  
"I'll live. Here, let me help you down."  
  
They've hardly exchanged any words, but Alana is frowning at her, seemingly confused, and Margot doesn't know what she's said to cause her upset and rushes to remedy whatever has hurt the other woman. "Don't worry, you'll be rid of me shortly. I... I shouldn't have brought you here. Forgive me. Here, the butler will see to you I'm just going to..."  
  
"But, Margot, I-" For once in her life, Margot Verger-Dimmond actually _runs away._  
  
How can she not? Clearly Alana has seen her at her worst, and whatever she might have meant by sending those flowers before those feelings can't overcome witnessing such a thing. _I'm a fool, and a monster besides. Of course she didn't want my help. Any reasonable person wouldn't want anything to do with me after seeing me kill my own kin. It's better this way. I won't distress her anymore._  
  
\------------  
  
The epiphany comes later, in the dead of night which seems to be customary for such revelations. Margot has been pacing her room, worrying over everything and nothing, when the words from earlier this morning repeat in her mind. She sees herself offering the guest suite to Alana, but she'd said Miss Bloom, and her tone had been so formal... that's when Alana had begun to frown. She'd then brushed away attempts at help and concern, and then... _oh god, I really am an idiot. She thought I was rejecting her!_  
  
\------------  
  
Margot spends half the night up in the conservatory searching, and before sunrise knocks on Alana's door. She can see a sliver of candlelight spilling out from the room, so she knows Alana is awake, but still she trembles. _I've never been so afraid of something in my entire life._  
  
When the door opens, it reveals Alana, looking exhausted but still so heartbreakingly lovely in a white nightdress. "Mrs. Dimmond?"  
  
Without speaking - knowing she'll say the wrong thing again if she dares, Margot presents Alana with the spider flower she'd spent hours looking for. It was a little rumpled on the edges, but it was the only one still alive, and it was very important to give Alana that _specific_ flower with it's oh so very clear meaning. There was nothing vague about it, no dual purpose symbolism.  
  
Alana's eyes have teared up, but she's smiling. _Smiling_! "Oh Mrs. Dimmond, I wish-"  
  
"Margot." She's adamant, no more niceties should separate them.  
  
"Margot." Alana opens the door wider, allowing Margot to enter though she has yet to take the offering in question. _But she wants to. I can see it._ "You must know that I adore you madly. But how could we..."  
  
This, Margot has prepared for, knowing all too well the typical objections to such outlandish a suggestion. But she'd come prepared. "After I married, Anthony took control of my portion of the estate. My father tried to disinherit me, but Anthony was so dashing, and charming. He convinced him not to. Mason was furious, but he thought he could convince our father to reconsider with time. Only my father died later that year, so he never could."  
  
"What are you saying?"  
  
"Anthony made sure I was in charge of everything. Officially, Mr. Froideveaux handles things, but that money is _mine_. With Mason dead, that portion goes to me as well." It's an unusual situation, to be sure, and it hinges on Margot not being arrested for the murder of said brother, but she has faith in Lord Wolf's men. "I'm saying we can go back to your home, we have the money to fix it up, to have horses and gardens and every little thing you could ask for. No one could stop us, they have no right to oppose! You're 23 now Alana, Lord Crawford, he can't stop you. Not really." Again, she holds out the flower. "Come away with me, Alana. Let's just... let's just run away from it all! Society be damned. I don't care about them. I care about _you_ , I love you."  
  
"I love you too."  
  
All at once, Alana is rushing into her arms, kissing her like she'd die if she didn't. It's the most perfect moment of Margot's life.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to say this was so much fun to work on! I had the best partner ever, and I wanted to give Nikolina a shoutout for her beautiful artwork and starting concept which was so inspiring for me! You can find her at https://another-lost-one.tumblr.com/ and like I said, she's brilliant!


End file.
